


Guardian Angel

by Em_313



Series: The Storyteller (Young Jack) [7]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Backstory, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot, Where better to escape trouble than a theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_313/pseuds/Em_313
Summary: 13-year-old Jack is out of money. Little did he know falling asleep on the theatre steps would lead to meeting a life-long friend.
Series: The Storyteller (Young Jack) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1258640
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Guardian Angel

**October 1895**

A dozen newsboys circled up in front of the lodge house and counted the day’s earnings. 

“I’ve got 14...no, 15 cents,” Crutchie held the coins in his fist. It was the first cold day of fall, and his bad leg was sore and purplish. 

“14,” Specs said. 

“9,” Race said. 

“10, 11, 12, 13,” Tommy counted and recounted, shaking his head.

Jack wished he had some gloves. “17.” He announced. 

The others rattled off their totals: 8, 11, 18, 12. Jack tried to do the math in his head, but Race was faster. “It ain’t enough.”

“Shit,” Jack said. “Anybody got any savings squirreled away?”

Everyone shook their heads. A dime a day got each boy some dinner, a bed, and a lukewarm shower. It usually wasn’t too hard to come up with. But recently they’d only lost money—lousy headlines, stupid bets, impulsive candy and tobacco, Race’s broken arm. The older boys who left them for construction jobs or factory work or restless Western adventures. 

_ Be a leader.  _ Jack thought. He took a deep breath and thrust his coins at Romeo, the annoying new kid. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay. See y’all in the morning.”

Everyone protested, but Jack ignored them. “I’ll be fine for one night, fellas,” he said. “Look out for each other an’ get some sleep. I’ll meet ya at the church for breakfast.”

He turned and started walking, but he had no idea where. The sun was setting. Just before it got completely dark, Jack ducked into a side street and sat down on the back steps of some fancy-looking building. Surely no one would come through here. Not on a weeknight. Not in a nice neighborhood. He was safe here. Right? His hands and face were cold, but the rest of him was okay. He stuck his hands in his pockets and wished again he had gloves. 

An image flickered through his mind: his Irish Catholic mama praying protection over him, like some kinda guardian angel. He shook it away. It didn’t matter.  He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top. Another hour or so crawled by. Jack wasn’t tired, just hungry and bored, scanning the dim light for signs of trouble. 

.

The door opened behind him, and Jack jerked awake. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Five or six young women came out chattering amongst themselves, then gasped. 

“Oh, Miss Medda! Miss Medda, there’s a kid out here!”

Jack leapt up and into the street. 

“Hey!” 

He looked. A beautiful Black woman filled the doorway, with a flowing red dress and her hair all done up. “Sorry, ma’am!” He was ready to run.

“Boy, come here!” She stepped out onto the steps. “It’s dark out here. Come on inside.” Her voice was firm, but warm like honey. 

Jack slowly turned around. “C’mon,” the woman said again. 

He followed her into a cavernous hall. Crates and shelves overflowed with clothes, wigs, and hats. The hell was this place?

The woman put her hands on her hips. “I’m Medda Larkin, and this is my theatre. And you are?”

“Jack.” 

“How old are you?”

He considered lying, but he didn’t. “13.”

She slowly looked him up and down.

“Well, Jack,” Medda said. “I’m assuming you’re either  _ very _ late for today’s audition, or you’re a bit down on your luck.”

Jack hesitated; he didn’t quite know what she meant. “I...just needed a place to crash tonight.” Then he added, “I don’t mean any trouble.”

“Neither do I.” She opened a door next to one of the shelves, turned on the light inside, and motioned for him to follow. 

They stepped into a little room with a cream-colored couch on one wall and a row of vanities against the other. There was a sink in the corner, and a little rack of costumes. Everything smelled like perfume and cigarette smoke and powdery makeup. 

“This is one of our dressing rooms,” Medda said. “Those sweet choir girls you saw will be back first thing in the morning, but I don’t think they’ll mind you having a rest on their couch. Surely more comfortable than the steps.”

Jack just stared. “Honest?”

She smiled. “Sit yourself down, honey. You’re with Medda now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing "around" this for months, but I finally actually wrote it. I really challenged myself to go SHORT. More of the camp fic coming soon. Thanks for reading!


End file.
